Spike drabbles
by Lenidrabbles
Summary: Souled, unsouled, redeemed and beyond redemption... What's not to like? WARNING: Drabbles may contain violence.
1. Slayers

**Number One**

She was easy to find, the only girl who didn't run around helplessly. To call her attention was easy as well. Now, fighting her... Not too easy. But Spike had been Darla's whipping boy for years and Angelus' pupil/toy longer than that. He wouldn't give up before a little Slayer with a decade's training at most.

His fangs finally connected, the rush of blood singing triumphantly into him. Victory. Euphoric victory with the drums of crumbling wood and the trumpets of human screams. This was what he'd been created for.

This moment. This _victory_

Nothing would ever surpass this feeling.

**Number Two**

Now this was better, Spike thought as the woman's struggle stopped. The perfect end to a patient hunt. The bitch had moved constantly, her fear over the little boy making her more unpredictable than he'd anticipated. It had taken weeks to learn her weaknesses enough to act on them. Just in time, too. Drusilla was growing restless, eager to move dead Slayer or not.

Spike loosened his hold. He eyed the coat his prey had been wearing and lifted it for a careful inspection. He grinned as he tried it on. Yes, definitely a good beginning for his future collection.

**Number Three**

Spike had always known there would be a third. Stupid girl. What part of 'He's on our side' had she failed to understand? Buffy better not give him grief for this one; he'd have enough with Dawn and Willow berating him.

He snorted. As if she'd given him any choice. The stake had been firm in her hand, single-mindedly pointed at his heart. This had been the essence of self-defence and Angel better shut up about it. Since when did they let out unstable Slayers anyway?

Fuck this. Those so-called trainers had a lot to explain when he found them.


	2. travel

Drusilla lies on their bed, another night without her feeding behind them. She still hasn't called him, yet she will when the hungers screams at her again.

Spike decides:

Prague wouldn't be their end. Angelus and Darla had left, kingdoms had fallen and risen again and both remained together. Mere humans stopping them? Unconceivable!

Spike plans:

Dru would be well fed tomorrow, even if all that blood came from his own wrists. Afterwards enough drugs to let her sleep across the ocean.

Spike knows:

They would go to the Hellmouth. Dru would heal.

They would see the world together.

Forever.


	3. alleys

**Previews.**

William walked quickly, jumping every time a noise interrupted the silence. He yelped when a hand suddenly grabbed his leg. Turning around frightened he found an old man lying on the floor. He was bleeding.

"Help me…" the stranger croaked. "She's coming."

William heard a woman's voice singing softly. She was coming closer…

The fear in the man's eyes was so evident that William felt his own bones freezing.

When a shadow appeared, William recovered enough to finally free his leg. He couldn't move for a second, but as he saw the golden fire staring straight at him, he ran.

**No Witness.**

Spike loved the moonless nights. No silver light to betray his presence before it was necessary. The empty alleys were always dark enough to hide his deeds from any prying eyes.

The girl in his grasp had tried to fight him. Poor deluded girl. He'd killed a Slayer not a week before… A simple girl believed she could overpower him?

Drusilla smiled at his gift, then bent down to sink her fangs delicately through the soft skin. The body trapped in his arms jerked and Spike could feel the scream trapped in her throat as he bit through it too.


	4. sick

**Sick Of It**

_The helplessness. _

Decades of wrongdoing, of things that would never change, that _could_ never change. He could stop a dozen other Apocalypses, offer himself in sacrifice and burn his body until the flames stayed inside. But his past would forever remain the same.

_The whisper. _

That lonely voice telling him to stop, to think, to regret. It should have been hopeless against the screams of a thousand instincts, his body's million pleas to chase, to trap and kill and _enjoy_ as death came to visit his victim's eyes.

But it was ever-present, the loneliest and strongest. The soul.

_The madness._


End file.
